


Crush

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-09
Updated: 2007-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has a terrible crush on Rodney.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crush

Rodney can't figure it out – John's been alternating between focused charm and kicked puppy for three and a half months now, and there's absolutely no explanation for it, despite all of Rodney's efforts to ferret out a cause. He's run systems diagnostics on the city to see if there's any cyclical power differential that could explain the Colonel's mood swings; tested for nanites; taken air samples every fifty feet along the route John and Ronon usually take on their morning run. He's monitored the Colonel's food intake, forced him to cut back on his caffeine, even suggested (much as it pained him) that they all join Teyla in some team meditation. (At least the quiet gave him some time to work on the desalination problem at water station six. It didn't seem to make the Colonel any less strange).

He's asked the advice of everyone he can. Teyla merely smiles enigmatically and promises him it'll work out in time – a remarkably sanguine attitude considering it's the Colonel's mental health at stake, he feels. Ronon smirks and offers him lettuce – a sign of affection, apparently, and he wonders about Satedans, he really does. Elizabeth frowns at him and waves him away as if she has better things to do, which, well, perhaps she does, but this is _Colonel Sheppard_ they're talking about. Zelenka mutters in Czech. Chuck grins and shrugs (Rodney would disown him if he weren't Canadian, but as it is, he just gives Chuck more peppermints). He doesn't even ask Kate. She'd think he was neurotic. Mostly because he is.

So it comes to this – finding himself walking toward the mess very early one Saturday morning, Sheppard falling into step beside him, whistling something Rodney would half be willing to swear was a Disney tune if swearing such a thing wouldn't have a severe impact upon his tenuous street cred around the base. It's the final straw, whistling, and he hustles John out to a balcony, pins him against the wall and waves a finger, businesslike, in the vicinity of his face. John blinks a lot and sort of blushes. It's not helping. Clearly the Colonel's very, very sick.

"Are you _ill_?" Rodney splutters helplessly, exasperated and worried and feeling a little like _he_ 's the one going mad.

"No?" John replies.

"Then – _what_?" Rodney asks, letting go of John's shirt. "What are you – _why_ are you . . . with the up and – _you're making me crazy!_ "

John lifts an eyebrow. "Don't know what you mean."

But his ears are pink. "HA!" Rodney says, triumphant. "Yes you do. Yes you _do_. What is it? A secret?"

John shifts from one foot to the other. "No."

"Sheppard!"

John scowls. "Kinda."

"A _secret_ ," Rodney says, reminding himself a little of a very erudite, Canadian Sherlock Holmes and rubbing his hands together gleefully. "Tell me."

"Wouldn't be a secret if I did," John replies churlishly.

Rodney narrows his eyes at that tone. "Is it a secret about _me_?"

John pouts.

"It is!" Rodney's wide-eyed with joy for approximately 1.3 seconds before reality crashes in. "Oh my god, I'm dying."

John rolls his eyes. "You are not dying."

"What is it then?" He takes a step back, horrified. "They're sending me back to _Earth?_ "

"Jesus, you're such a drama queen," John mutters. He looks up. "It's nothing like that!"

"Then what is it!?" Rodney asks, terrified. "Why won't you tell me?"

"Because it's _private_ ," John says, waving a hand.

"How can it be private and about me?" Rodney asks. "What did I do? Why can't I know?"

John scrubs a hand over his face and sighs heavily. "Goddamn you, McKay," he says with a sigh. "I like you." He's mumbling now, looking at the floor and scuffing the balcony with the toe of his boot.

Rodney blinks. "Huh?"

"I _like_ you, okay?" John says. He scratches the back of his neck, looks up for a nanosecond, and then away again.

"How is this news?" Rodney asked. "Did you not like me before and I . . . " A new idea slams into him with the force of an express train. "You mean you – _like_ me?"

John folds his arms across his chest and nods quickly.

"You _like_ me?"

John chews on his lip and looks up at the sky.

"Oh my god, you _like_ me," Rodney murmurs. "All this – stuff. It was – you were _flirting_ with me."

"Yeah, thanks for noticing," John mutters.

"And then you were pissed off because I didn't – "

"Look," John cuts in. "It's fine. I mean – I'm doing fine. Don't worry about it, it won't affect the team, I'll just . . . "

Rodney squints at him, open-mouthed. "Are you _insane_?"

That makes John pay attention. "What?"

Rodney steps forward, takes John's face between his hands and kisses him slow and careful, meaning it. "I didn't know," he whispers as they break apart, John's hands cupping his elbows. "I didn't know." He watches as John wets his lips.

"So, you're – "

"I'm totally – "

"Okay. So – "

"Yeah, let's – "

"Mine or – "

"Yours."

"Okay." And they manage to let go of each other for the few moments it takes them to get inside and find a transporter, head back to staff quarters and hide themselves behind John's door. They're both breathless, awkward and blushing and Rodney doesn't know exactly what they do now, except he hopes it involves a lot less clothes.

"So – " He swallows. "Um."

John picks up two pairs of stray boxers and a lone sock, stuffs them behind his desk. "Yeah, I – "

"God, you're hopeless," Rodney says, and realizes he means it _fondly_ , and in the next moment he's across the room, pushing John down on the bed and kissing him with what he suspects is rather more enthusiasm than skill, but chances like these don't come around every day, and he needs to impress upon John just exactly how much they should do this: often, between missions, in the evenings, on days off, and screw the stupid computer game in the basement. Oh god, they're such _nerds_.

"Wow," John manages, his voice low and strangled as Rodney rubs against him. "You're – wow, yeah, okay I can . . . _Jesus_."

"Deities, yes, those, all of them," Rodney mumbles in agreement, pulling John's t-shirt out of his pants and shoving it clumsily up toward his neck. He rubs a thumb over one of John's nipples, grins happily when John swears, then replaces his thumb with his mouth. He likes the things that makes John do with his hips, so he does it to the other nipple as well, and he's absolutely unprepared when John does some crazy military ninja move and flips them over, unfastens Rodney's belt and fly and takes him in his hand before Rodney can even properly orient himself to the fact that he's staring at the ceiling. "Oh," he manages, choked and helpless, and in the next second he realizes John means to – ". . . _ohhhhhh_ ," he breathes out, whimpering as John closes his warm, wet mouth over his cock, and Rodney really never saw this coming at all. "Mmmph," he manages, squirming a little, trying to both encourage John to keep doing exactly that thing with his tongue and yet not do it _quite_ so well because holy Mother of Ancients, _where did he learn that_. "Hooker!" he blurts, and that's all the warning he can manage before he comes into John's mouth and John – _John looks pleased_. If Rodney were a woman he swears he'd come again, just on principle, but he's not a woman, and that's good, because apparently women don't do it for John and he likes John to – "I have – brain is – what?" he finishes out loud.

John smiles – smug bastard – and reaches for one of Rodney's completely unresponsive hands, guides it to – "Oh god!" Rodney squeaks. "That's your cock, isn't it?" And John probably knows that if the blissful, hungry expression on his face is anything to go by, but Rodney can't help it if he needs to state the obvious once in a while, besides, it's probably a good thing, announcing it, so that John knows he hasn't been fucked up by aliens and left unaware of the fact that his hand is doing shockingly filthy things to John's body, making John pant and groan and mutter, "please, please, please," into Rodney's shoulder. He comes all over them both and Rodney thinks, scientifically speaking, that's completely and utterly _awesome_.

They're quiet for a little while after, tangled up – Rodney seriously has no idea how they're going to properly identify their own limbs and lay claim to them – drowsy and sated and oh my god, they just had sex. "We just had _sex_ ," Rodney says, realizing that he's mostly still dressed and his shirt's pretty much ruined. He dips a finger in the come John splattered across his pants and tastes it. It's the empirical thing to do.

John groans helplessly, and kisses Rodney hard, all rough stubble and soft lips and Rodney wishes he were maybe a girl (again) for the recovery time if nothing else. "You like cock," he says wonderingly, as John pulls away.

"I like _you_ ," John murmurs, inching his face into the crook of Rodney's neck. "Go to sleep."

And Rodney pats his back and scratches his nails through John's messy hair and thinks huh, naps, he's always been good at that, and who needs shirts when there are so many things to do naked, and those awful bastards, every _one_ of them knew and, fuck it, who cares, it's all sort of irrelevant and –

Just like that, he falls asleep.


End file.
